


Oz-a-rama (the Monica Lewinsky remix)

by trillingstar



Category: Oz (TV)
Genre: Community: 50kinkyways, Crack, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Semi-Public Sex, bowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-06
Updated: 2012-06-06
Packaged: 2017-11-10 08:20:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/464182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trillingstar/pseuds/trillingstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I see you smirking, Sean Murphy!  Laugh all you want, but the Oz-a-rama Bowling Night is going to be the stuff of legend!  Legend!!"<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Oz-a-rama (the Monica Lewinsky remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [natlet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/natlet/gifts).



> Crack-fueled PWP written for [natlet](http://archiveofourown.org/users/natlet), natch, who asked for McManus/Keller porn, and for prompt #47, writer's choice, on [50kinkyways](http://50kinkyways.livejournal.com): sex in public or semi-public spaces.
> 
> Visual inspiration found [HERE](http://community.livejournal.com/leeloni/163288.html).  
> 

  


It takes some doing, but Gloria and Pete manage to set up their schedules so their breaks overlap, and woe to anyone who tries to change that fact.

"Did you see McManus's latest memo?" Gloria bites into her sandwich.

Pete laughs, stretching forward to grab a napkin from the dispenser. "I did," she says, primly folding the thin paper in half and tucking it under her coffee cup. Then she grins. "What do you think - a hit, or a miss?"

A snort of laughter from across the table. "He's racking them up all right."

Pete shakes her head. "Wrong sports analogy; he's talking _bowling_ , for goodness sakes."

Gloria snickers again. "Well, the betting pool's already open. I've already got you in, just tell me your specifics."

***

"I don't know why you're getting so upset. First of all, it's bowling. Who doesn't love bowling? Bowling is like, an all-American sport. People of all ages love bowling. Oh, don't look at me like that. Look, we're using foam pins; they're made out of Styrofoam, but that heavier kind, with the shellack, so they still sit up by themselves. And the bowling balls are more like big whiffle balls, only painted black. I see you smirking, Sean Murphy! Laugh all you want, but the Oz-a-rama Bowling Night is going to be the stuff of legend! Legend!" 

Tim takes a deep breath.

"Don't forget your t-shirt. I got that place in town to donate a whole bunch, so all the COs will match and all of the inmates have their own, too. It'll make 'em feel more like they're all on the same team. You know that I care very much about their feelings, to the point where I've made Omar White a team captain."

Tim snaps his fingers in front of Sean's face to redirect his attention, pointing down to the stack of t-shirts on the desk.

"Look - you're Team Hack! 

Oh, stop growling, Sean, you sound like - a bear, maybe. A bear that eats all the picnic food and ruins the cookout. Don't you ruin my cookout, you asshole. For fuck's sake, would you just put on the shirt already. I know it fits you because I peeked in your locker while you were in the show...errrr, well, it looks very good on you."

Tim smiles benignly at the look on Sean's expressive face. 

"They're coming in now! Okay, so make sure that everyone gets a shirt. And wears it the right way. Not around your head, O'Reily. Smartass."

One thing out of the many things that Tim McManus is good at is talking. Looking around the room, he nods, pleased with himself. Now there's just one more step left in his plan...

***

"Try the handle again. Sometimes it sticks."

"Nope, definitely not working. Or opening. Put a call in to maintenance."

"Who?"

"Oh, right. Check with Murphy, get one of Em City's career locksmiths on the job."

"Haha. I hear they're all busy _bowling_ tonight. Fuckin' McManus. I swear."

Tim holds his breath until the sound of footsteps recedes, then expels a cloud of smoke from his lungs. Dammit, since when do the hacks actually check inside supply closets? No mind. He inhales off the joint again, blinking slowly as a tingling sensation spreads down his arms. This is some good shit. 

Bowling night is going to be awesome! 

***

Tim floats into the cafeteria, which sports five "lanes" and a mob of people. There's even punch. Well, juice boxes. He bets they're fruit punch flavored, though. He nods approvingly and drifts to the back, leaning back against the cool metal of the counter. As though from a great distance, he watches while all of the different groups work together in harmony. They're all trying really hard and sincerely to change, to grow and develop as human beings, not just felons. He sniffs, smiling, happy at the productive environment that he's created.

He's feeling so mellow that when someone slides their arm around his shoulders and moves in close, his reflexes are slow, and it takes a few seconds to force his eyes open. He blinks, and a sudden wash of panic clears the cobwebs from his brain.

"You itching for another turn in the cage, Keller?" Tim intends to snap out the words and he's mortified when his tone makes it more of an offer than a threat.

Keller grins, slanting a glance sideways at Tim. "Nah," he replies. "Just wanted to let you know this's a good party. Nice job."

Unexpectedly touched by the thoughtful compliment, Tim nearly misses the commotion over by left half of the stage. A crowd's gathering, and he catches a glimpse of Cyril clutching two of the fake bowling balls and waving them around. Or maybe the balls are stuck on his fingers? It's hard to tell, but it's clear that he's having some sort of meltdown. He wonders about that poor guy's head sometimes, thinks about whether or not the pills do anything other than keep him all fucked up. Maybe they just get him fucked up, like Tim feels now, all warm and relaxed, snugged up close next to Chris Keller, who's nudging him toward the storage pantry; they're sliding along the counter and it's like riding an escalator, every second a bit closer to stepping off. Keller unwraps his arm from Tim's shoulders, but doesn't stop touching, moving his hand from the back of Tim's neck down to the small of his back, and then there's someone in their path. 

Tim draws up short. "What's going on back here?" He clears his throat and tries to look stern. "Bowling isn't about selling tits or smelly shoes! It's about understanding, and peace. Get your asses back out there, now." 

Grumbling, Adebisi and Kenny and Junior and Poet all file past him, shoulders slumped, heads bowed with regret. They head back to the party, where they're missing out on the - "Fun," Tim says.

"You betcha," Keller says. He bumps Tim's shoulder, gets them moving again. Keller is at his side! This is so exciting.

It's not as though there aren't COs all over the place; Tim had personally assigned the duty roster. It's only the cafeteria, it's not that big of a space anyway. How much trouble could they possibly get into? 

They're almost to the chain-link door by the prep area when Rebadow totters past them, the beanie on his hat spinning merrily. He's clutching a bright yellow disposable camera, and as he passes them he turns the lens on Keller and Tim. He's going to snap their picture, like he and Keller are really buddies hanging out at the bowling alley! Holy shit, his program is so working!! 

Tim laughs, sounding gleeful. Keller turns to look at him, an anticipatory smile edging onto his lips, and he asks, "Feeling good, Tim?"

The truth is that he _is_ feeling good, definitely, so much so that he nods and laughs a little more and forgets to yell at Keller for calling him Tim. He hasn't yelled at Keller for touching him yet, either, and then he dismisses the thought. They're practically pals. Keller hasn't done anything the least bit threatening, and it's not as though he's looking to break any bones -- that debt to Vern's been paid up in full. The thought makes Tim's smile hitch, though, and then he's blinded by the camera flash. His spotty vision allows the sight of Rebadow's outline moving away, and then Keller squeezes Tim's shoulder. 

"Come on," Keller says, and then, "You're okay."

Tim stumbles going around the corner, and then he's busy staring at the shiny metal shelving and appliances with their smooth, clean surfaces. He's unsure if he's ever been back where they store the food, and definitely not without a CO. He spares a thought for Sean, and in his mind's eye he sees a soft glow of light encircling Cyril, Omar and Jia as they finish a round of high-fives and then continue to cheer one another on. It's a convincing picture.

"Hey," Keller says, drawing Tim's attention. He sounds really friendly and Tim shakes his head because it's kind of weird that Keller's being so nice. But maybe - maybe Tim finally got through to him. Maybe Keller just really likes bowling, or big balls, or free t-shirts that read... _Team Stabler_. Huh. Tim scratches his chin.

"This was a good idea," Keller whispers into Tim's ear. They take a step to the left, and Tim feels the coolness of metal at his back. He feels bright all over, because yes, exactly! He is making a connection, and with Keller of all people.

"Well," he says, trying not to brag too much, "I've read studies showing that prisoners prefer having additional extracurricular activities..." 

He trails off, looking down at the arm pushed across his chest, then further down to where Keller's unbuttoning the top button on Tim's jeans.

"Um... what are you doing?" 

Keller doesn't answer, not really, unless Tim counts the way that Keller grins while he's pushing his hand into Tim's fly. Okay, fuck, now Tim clues in. This is such an extremely bad bad bad idea, but - Keller's warm, and nice, and does it really matter? It's been almost a week since Tim's gotten some action.

Keller pushes in closer, crowding Tim, and he answers. "I'm gonna make you feel good."

He sounds serious about it, as though he likes the bowling program kick-off party so much that he's going to give Tim a reward, and then Keller's fingers find the gap in Tim's boxers and - _oh_ \- 

Keller's fingers curl around Tim's cock and he rubs his thumb down over Tim's balls, but then he stops too soon, his frustrated grunt mirrored back by Tim. "Here, you turn this way," Keller mutters, and then Tim's nose is to the wall and he braces his forearms up against it, his back pressed against Keller's chest. Keller slides both hands into Tim's jeans, and his body is hard and hot and steady behind Tim.

Tim's breath rushes out of his lungs, and he gasps, trying not to choke on air, trying to breathe, dammit, but he thinks that he may have forgotten how. Looking down, he watches Keller stroking his dick, and a high-pitched giggle escapes, tiny in the space between them.

Keller leans forward, wrapping one arm around Tim's waist, pulling him in tight and hooking his chin over Tim's shoulder. "I like how you feel," he whispers, rhythmically squeezing Tim's cock.

Tim has no idea what to make of that line: he's not sure if Keller's saying it because he means it or if he's saying it just to fuck with him, so he grunts in response, hoping that's enough of a reply. Inside, he feels wild, knowing he's breaking about a thousand rules, but getting a perverse satisfaction out of picturing the look on Glynn's face (or hell, on Sean's face, and doesn't that give Tim an extra shiver) if they get caught. It doesn't matter, it's too late now to stop whatever this is. He can't very well call out for one of the COs now, not with Keller's hands down his pants, not with Keller's body pushed up against his own.

The smartest thing to do, he thinks, frowning – remembering how desperately he'd sucked down that joint, which maybe hadn't been very smart at all – is to ride it out, let Keller finish him. Finish it.

Just as Tim decides to show a little enthusiasm and help this – this _thing_ along to its conclusion, Keller slows down his strokes, twisting his wrist and backing off; Tim whimpers, an embarrassing breathy noise. He feels Keller grinning against his neck, and then Keller's nuzzling him, soft little bites on Tim's earlobe. Tim's hips jerk forward, Keller laughs, and Tim huffs out a breath, impatient, bucking back against Keller, trying to get him to speed up again.

Keller's fingers press against Tim's balls, rubbing, tugging them down and twisting, not enough to hurt, just a pleasurable pressure, and there is something to be said for men who know what to do with a cock. He wonders if Sean's one of those men.

The thought makes Tim groan, loudly, and Keller responds with a dark throaty noise that makes goose bumps raise on Tim's arms at the same time his dick jerks in Keller's hand. Oh god, what if someone walks by, what if someone investigates a noise, holy crap what if someone _sees_ \-- Tim with his pants open, cock out, chest pushed up against a wall. It's not his fault, he was overcome, but – Tim wriggles in Keller's arms, whines, trying to get away and trying to get more.

Keller says, "Yeah, _yeah_ , that's what I want to hear," and tightens his hold.

Rocking back and forth as best he can, Tim thrusts his cock into Keller's fist, slamming forward harder each time. He arches back as he comes and Keller keeps going, rubbing Tim's jizz up and down, slipping his thumb over the crown of Tim's cock. Tim shudders, knees wobbling for a moment. The sharp scent of come hangs in the air. 

"Jesus," Tim says weakly.

Keller bites Tim's neck.

"Jesus!" Tim shouts. "Off, get off --" He bats ineffectually at the top of Keller's head.

Keller's rubbing against Tim's ass, and Tim drops his arm. Turning his head, he rests his cheek against the cool cement wall and tries to ignore the voice in his head screeching about turning his back on a murderer and that's not even considering what said murderer is doing, right now, on him. 

"Did you just come on my shirt?" 

Keller groans, ignoring the question.

"Keller!"

Using the wall for leverage, Tim pushes Keller back, looks down, tucks everything away and zips, then spins around and wags his finger in Keller's face.

"White shirts, good choice," Keller says, eyes glinting with humor. 

Tim feels his face heat up, figures he's turning about six shades of red because okay, fuck Keller.

"Let's go," Tim says brusquely, running a hand over his head, then straightening his shirt. 

They're almost to the thick wire door when Tim realizes he's missing the tin from his back pocket. Turning, he says, "It wasn't that good, Keller," and holds out his hand.

Keller looks at Tim with bright eyes and a grin that says, _you gotta be fucking with me_. After a few moments of Tim waiting, his arm outstretched, Keller's eyes narrow and he glares, but Tim ignores the way his gut clenches, concentrating on the burst of adrenaline, how he feels good, confident, the way he usually does after a great fuck. Okay, so maybe it was that good, but he's still not a complete idiot.

"Come on," Tim says, gesturing. His voice sounds hoarse.

Tilting his head, Keller holds eye contact as he steps closer, close enough that the smell of him tickles Tim's nostrils and he won't lie – Tim's dick twitches when he realizes that he knows what Keller's jizz smells like, and damn if it doesn't make him want to lick his lips.

Keller slides a small tin out of his pocket, then pops the top open. He looks up at Tim from under dark eyelashes and extracts a joint, tucking it behind his ear. Closing the box with a metallic clink, he reaches, pushing it into Tim's back pocket, and palming Tim's ass at the same time. If Tim doesn't push against Keller's hand, it's only because it's gone too fast.

"Fine," Tim says, antsy, wondering how long they've been gone.

Keller's still at his side when Tim bursts through the door and into the group of COs gathered by the prep tables. Tim ignores all of the looks, especially the ones coming from Beecher. Shit.

Suddenly Beecher waggles his eyebrows at Tim, and from the corner of his eye, Tim catches Keller in a wink.

Rolling his eyes, Tim stomps over to where Sean's supervising a couple of thugs from Unit B setting up the foam pins.

"Hey Timmy," Sean says. 

Tim grunts in response. His buzz is fading fast, and munchies are setting in. They're in a kitchen, aren't they? Next time could be a culinary Olympics! That's an even better idea than bowling! 

"What're you so jazzed up about?" 

Tim laughs. "Just picturing you in one of those paper chef's hats. Think about it! It would be the stuff of legend! Our stage: the cafeteria. The players, bound by honor and their apron strings..." He lowers his voice. " _Legendary._ "  


**Author's Note:**

> trillingstar: somehow I think we're going to be the death of each other.  
> natlet: LOL NO SHIT
> 
>   
> 
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>   
> 


End file.
